Role Reversal
by ktfoo
Summary: What if LW had been the slave, instead of Charon? Inspired by kmeme prompt. EDITTED. Charon/F!LW
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: An un-anon kmeme fill, but expect no sex until much later (if at all, the end isn't written yet) and plenty of angst. EDITTED since first posted online.

**Summary:** What if Charon had always lived free, and encountered F!LW as a slave (collared, not brainwashed)? How does this change the dynamic between them? Follow Lone Wanderer Anna as she fights for freedom and learns how to survive, and how Charon plays a part in this.

**Trigger Warning: **This story does not explicitly describe rape but it is implied. If this could bother you unduly, please do not read on.

* * *

><p>Charon avoided places like this for a reason. That reason being, they were depressing as hell.<p>

In the Capitol Wasteland, though, there was no safer place for a ghoul to sleep at night than the Museum of History. Last time he'd been through, Carol's Place had only gotten him unwanted advances, and that left the less-than-reputable Ninth Circle.

Apparently there wasn't an adequate watering hole in this dump, because he was already on whiskey number two to drown out the sorry sight of this bar, not to mention the taste of whiskey number one.

The owner was obviously dealing chems on the side. The patrons were more than drunk—they were strung out, some violent, some staring into corners blindly.

It also didn't take a genius to see that the barmaid was hiding a slave collar under her scarf. Judging by how she cringed at Ahzrukhal's every word, the collar was still very much active.

Charon didn't look like the average patron. Only recently he'd been stitched back together by Doc downstairs. This time it had been raiders. Six of them, and every last one looked worse than Charon leaving that fight—and that was saying something. Charon just wanted a good night's sleep before leaving again on another scavenging mission. He was still fit and healthy—for a ghoul, anyways—and wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his whiskey.

It wasn't long before he was singled out in that place.

"Finally decided to grace us with your patronage, Charon?" Ahzrukhal said from behind the bar. Charon was somewhat of a legend among these ghouls. He ventured out into the world and did as he pleased—something the Underworld mostly dreamed of. Ahzrukhal had always been somewhat insulted at Charon's avoidance.

Charon grunted, staring into his drink.

"Well, you know who to ask if you ever want something extra. The Ninth Circle caters to needs that Carol can't even imagine."

"Whiskey's fine."

"Alright, alright. But if you ever need the edge in a fight… or something to take the edge off… you know where to go. For the right price."

"Not interested."

Ahzrukhal took the hint, leaving to open his metaphorical trench coat to more pliant customers.

In a few moments: "Offer you a refill, sir?"

Charon looked up from his glass to see the barmaid. Her eyes were fearful but her hands were steady. Whiskey in hand, she awaited his reply. She was young, he noted. Probably hadn't even hit the old drinking age.

He nodded.

She poured.

"You here by choice, girl? We don't see many smoothskins around here."

"I…I'm not allowed to speak to customers. I'm sorry, you'll have to talk to Ahzrukhal."

The skin where Charon's eyebrow used to be quirked.

It wasn't long, then, until the slimy owner returned. Obviously, it was a setup the man had used before: dangle the attractive slave before the loner, go in for the caps. Charon had a dark feeling about what was going to happen next, and he was quickly proven right.

"The pain relief available for purchase here isn't restricted to the chemical variety, you know," Ahzrukhal spoke on a low voice over his shoulder.

"She doesn't mind? About…us?"

"If she does, she's never said so. We have an…arrangement."

Charon chortled. "You mean she gets paid double to do us squishers." Decades of practice went into that poker face. It had taken Charon a long time to learn to ask questions before shooting.

Ahzrukhal's laugh made bile rise in Charon's throat. "Something like that. You interested?"

"How much?"

"Sixty caps for half an hour."

"Steep."

"People like us never find another chance like this. Not out in the Wasteland."

After a few moments, Charon inclined his head, pulling a pouch of caps from his pack.

Ahzrukhal, leering, waved to the barmaid, who shakily nodded and headed to a back room.

As Charon followed, the hunger disappeared from his face, replaced with a cold grimace.

* * *

><p>The room was furnished with only a bare mattress and table. Condoms, both unopened and used, littered the table and floor. Given the mattress's stains, their use was apparently optional. Musk and mold permeated the room. Shutting the splintered door left everything quite dim.<p>

She sat on the bed, curled into herself protectively.

"Are you allowed to speak to me now?"

"There's usually not much talking… but you are paying for my company. So I guess it's thirty minutes of whatever you want," she replied without looking at him.

"You must be new. You can't even fake it yet."

That earned him a glare. "You here to insult me?"

"Maybe that's the way I like it." He leaned against the wall.

Her eyes closed, the expression speaking of despair.

"Calm down. Keep your clothes on."

She didn't move.

"I'm not here for sex."

One eyelid cracked open.

Charon sighed. "This will be more trouble than it's worth. I'm not usually a vigilante, but I really hate that guy."

She looked at him warily now.

"You got a name?" he asked.

After a moment, she murmured, "Anna."

"Charon."

"What exactly are you going to do, Charon?"

He truly smiled for the first time that night. "For now, wait."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Charon marched out of the room.<p>

"I've got a problem with your merchandise, Ahzrukhal. Care to discuss it with me? In private?" he said loudly. More than one ghoul took notice.

"What problem would that be?"

"She failed to give me my money's worth."

"Look, if your prick doesn't work anymore, that's not my—"

In several moments, Ahzrukhal was shoved against a wall, feet dangling, balls and neck both in a vice-like grip.

"Slave collars don't turn me on," Charon growled, "What should I rip out first?"

Ahzrukhal's eyes widened. He said nothing.

"You should have invested in a bouncer, not a whore. Now: Windpipe or testicles?"

"You want her? Have her. Her remote… pocket…"

Charon smiled, slipping his hand into that pocket and taking the remote out gingerly.

He let the ghoul barkeep down. Ahzrukhal collapsed to the floor. When he looked up, it was at the business end of a shotgun.

"You are a disgusting rat," Charon declared.

Ahzrukhal didn't get a chance for any last words.


	2. Chapter 2

Charon slept between Anna and the guns that night. In the morning, he offered her the pistol back.

"You made a decision?"

She nodded, and holstered the weapon. He nodded in return, and handed over her pack.

After a moment, she said, surprised, "You lightened my load."

"Just repacked a few things. Let's go."

Paradise Falls was a long ways away. Having been blindfolded on the way in, Anna was seeing the city for the first time. She stopped to stare far more often than Charon liked.

"C'mon, smoothskin. Open streets make me nervous," he said, heading down to a subway tunnel.

Sighing at the loss of her view, Anna followed. The metro stations were not pleasant—hardly even tolerable, really—but he was right. Too many traps, too many sniping positions, too many hostiles in the city. Rubble blocked many of their ways and they wasted time finding work-arounds. She left the navigating to him, entirely lost without the sun or a predetermined pip-boy map.

She was also vaguely, unnervingly reminded of Underworld here—especially when they had to kill ferals.

They kept walking for a long time, turning or switching routes seemingly at random. Charon took only a few breaks. He hogged irradiated water the same way she had seen smoothskins hoard clean water. 8:24 was the reading on the pip-boy before they huddled to camp in an old public bathroom for the night.

"We'll be out in the open by tomorrow," Charon said, "Maybe two days walk then if we can avoid getting killed on the way."

"I get the feeling you're good at avoiding getting killed."

He granted her only a small smile. Packaged food finished and tossed aside, he had already moved on to cleaning his gun.

"You got a plan, kid?"

"Sort of. I know that Eulogy Jones—the man in charge—can activate the collars from his house. Some kids were there when I was, trying to hack his computer. It will be ten times easier to just do it on his computer. I just don't know how to get in there and do it."

"Into Paradise Falls? I don't have the reputation. But… they might let us in for some of our new caps."

"Here's hoping. They're heavily armed, though. If anyone catches us…"

"Me. If anyone catches me. If you go in before your collar's deactivated, you might just be killed before the shooting even starts. Besides, you still don't aim right."

"You can't just go in there alone! That's a death warrant, too, there's like 20 mercenaries in there!"

"We'll figure it out. Go in, get the slaver's computer, get out alive. Simple enough."

"Dad taught me some about computers. I could probably hack it pretty easy—I just don't know how to get close to it."

"Leave that to me."

* * *

><p>The two-day walk was as uneventful as it could have been in the Capital Wasteland. They got a little too close to a Deathclaw nest before Charon noticed it and they spent most of a tense hour sneaking past. Anna had no idea how he'd spotted it, but once the adrenaline wore off, he tersely explained to her the finer points of Deathclaw cries.<p>

He also taught her to skin a molerat ("The pork and beans can't last forever") and they had a bit of shooting practice, usually very hands-on practice.

"We snuck around the Deathclaws, why can't we sneak around the Raiders?"

"You need practice. Especially before we get to Paradise Falls."

In this way he improved her shooting, both speed and accuracy, and taught her how to clean a gun. When Anna remarked on how quickly she was improving, Charon replied, "Survival does that to you."

He had not touched her, even in passing, since pulling the gun from her hands.

* * *

><p>They were set to arrive in the morning. A short interlude with a merchant-turned-psychopath had delayed them. Charon didn't want to go in tired, and definitely not with Anna exhausted to the point of shaky.<p>

He'd thought shaky might just be normal for her—after her past, it wouldn't be hard to imagine—but her hands didn't shake when she skinned a molerat or held a gun. She might not be able to sleep, but she was learning to shoot, and in Charon's book that combination was a recipe for survival.

The fact that she had_ chosen_ survival seemed to help, too. She wasn't exactly stable yet but they'd had no repeats of the first night. She'd found something untapped in herself to keep moving.

Long after dark fell, Anna was huddled up staring at the campfire. Charon eyed her surreptitiously, watching her face scrunch and relax as some kind of internal argument waged within her.

"I'm sorry if I get you killed," she finally said.

Charon looked at her long and hard, until she broke her gaze from the fire. "I'd be sorry to die."

"Then why? This is suicidal, what we're doing, and you've known me a few days. I don't get it."

She's learning, he thought, that's good.

"The world's not fair," he said out loud, "But it should be."

By his tone Anna knew the conversation was done; his cues were subtle but she was starting to pick them up. The dead plains and black wasteland sky filled her view as she turned from him, from the fire, and wondered who Charon really was. She wondered how they would survive tomorrow, and if they did, how to ever thank this crazy enigma who had saved her life?

* * *

><p>"So you're sure that the computer is the only place to de-activate the collars?"<p>

"Yes. And they could activate the self-destruct on any of the other slave collars in the meantime."

"Don't worry."

"You have a plan?"

"Yeah. You won't like it. Just go with it. I'll get you out."

She looked him up and down warily. They were too close to back out now. The city of slavers was already looming uncomfortably close.

"Give me the pistol," he said quietly. Now Anna looked at him as though he were asking her to jump to the moon. She'd gotten quite attached to Ahzrukhal's gun since about the first raider who'd tried to take her head off.

Brow raised, Charon held out a hand. Anna acquiesced.

They found the doorman in minutes.

"State your business or I shoot!"

Charon held his hands up, all weapons holstered. "I want to speak to Eulogy about my property," he said, stomach giving a twist that he ignored.

"What about her?"

"She's sub-par."

"Not my problem. We ain't seen you before, and we don't take responsibility for subcontractors."

"I just want to speak to him about arranging another business transaction."

"…Mr. Jones' time isn't cheap."

With a growl, Charon threw a bag. It clinked on the ground, and the slaver opened it to look inside.

"Come on in. Just don't touch anything, ghoul-man."

The pair entered, passing through a number of wicked-looking barricades and earning suspicious glances from more than one slaver.

Being inside again made Anna nervous. Fingers twitched for a gun, legs itched to start running. Ghostly horrors played across her memory—she knew what these people were capable of. Charon's stoic presence kept her from outright panic, but still her spine prickled and her breath shortened.

They were quickly led to the "pad." Inside, they went into a large room built for a hedonist, complete with silk bed, sex slaves, and enough liquor to kill a dozen men. Eulogy lounged between two mean-looking mercenaries with large guns.

"Hey, hey, I hear we have a problem, customer. What can I do for you?" Eulogy Jones asked.

"I acquired this slave from a ghoul named Ahzrukhal. She's not broken and her collar's discipline nodule isn't working."

"And what are you proposing I do about that?"

"I want a new collar. If that isn't possible, I want help breaking her in. The dirty work isn't for me."

Charon discussed this all quite casually. Anna's eyes darted more rapidly between the men. His eyes betrayed nothing—so who was he double-crossing, really? She had only known this man for a few days and placed all of her trust in him.

It really was a bad habit she'd gotten in to—but he held her remote, what else could she do?

"I can hook you right up with a new collar. We sometimes have problems with that model—it is pre-war, after all—for the bargain price of 800 caps, because I like you."

Charon's eyes narrowed. "You're robbing me."

"Sorry. It's 800 or nothing. Those collars are not easy to find."

Charon dug out bags of caps from several locations on his body, tossing them onto the bed between the concubines.

"Check them," Eulogy ordered. The slaves opened the bags, nodded. "All right," he continued, "If you'll just follow me to my computer terminal, we can deactivate that collar and get a new one on."

Eulogy typed in a few codes and asked for the remote. Charon handed it over and Eulogy flipped it open.

"I'm sure you remember Forty," Eulogy told her, "He's on duty outside the pad right now. So if you try to run…"

Anna managed to shake her head slowly. Her knees shook at the memory and remembered, phantom pain.

"Good girl," Eulogy said, pressing a button. Her collar clicked. "Clover? Get me a new one from the closet."

Charon barely moved. He didn't reach for the shotgun on his back, instead smoothly lifting the pistol from his hip. Without any preamble, Eulogy Jones sprawled dead on his floor, most of his head gone. Gunshots jolted through the old theatre, and in moments, everyone in the room was dead except for Anna and Charon.

Already filled with adrenaline, Anna took several minutes to register all this. "Were—were the slaves necessary?"

"Chick one went for a knife, two for a pipe. Yes."

With that, he reloaded and handed her pistol back. "Get ready," he growled, "And pick up a decent damn gun on the way."

Hell broke loose soon after. Slavers poured in after the shots. Charon and Anna had the advantage of surprise but little else. They lacked the sheer numbers and weapons of the slavers, but survived the first round.

Charon met her eyes and cocked his head to the stairs. She followed, and they slipped towards the balcony. Before anyone saw them up there, Charon had dropped two of them. Anna kept just inside the door, waiting for any stragglers to follow them.

Only one did, but he brought an assault rifle. Anna took it as the man gurgled on the floor and prayed it didn't operate too differently from her old BB gun.

When she emerged from the stairs, Charon was laughing and jeering at the slavers, reloading under cover. He poured a bottle of irradiated water over a graze-wound and returned to the fray. The heat and lust of battle written across his face were something to behold, especially from a man who betrayed so little emotion.

She managed to shoot. The first few bullets went far wide of their targets, but then she saw Forty taking aim with a heavy-duty minigun.

She emptied the clip into him and kept pulling the trigger before Charon casually mentioned, "Might want more bullets, kid."

Anna almost took a swing at him. Instead, she loaded the extra magazine—her only extra, taken from the slaver's pocket—and kept shooting.

At some point, bullets stopped flying back in return. Anna stared at the wall behind them, her back to the railing. Riddled with holes and blood, the theater stood testament to the gravity of the battle. She looked down at herself, her torn pre-war clothes, and the blood spreading over them.

"Nice choice on the assault rifle, smoothskin."

"…You okay, kid?"

"…Kid?"

"…Anna?"


	3. Chapter 3

Charon slept between Anna and the guns that night. In the morning, he offered her the pistol back.

"You made a decision?"

She nodded, and holstered the weapon. He nodded in return, and handed over her pack.

After a moment, she said, surprised, "You lightened my load."

"Just repacked a few things. Let's go."

Paradise Falls was a long ways away. Having been blindfolded on the way in, Anna was seeing the city for the first time. She stopped to stare far more often than Charon liked.

"C'mon, smoothskin. Open streets make me nervous," he said, heading down to a subway tunnel.

Sighing at the loss of her view, Anna followed. The metro stations were not pleasant—hardly even tolerable, really—but he was right. Too many traps, too many sniping positions, too many hostiles in the city. Rubble blocked many of their ways and they wasted time finding work-arounds. She left the navigating to him, entirely lost without the sun or a predetermined pip-boy map.

She was also vaguely, unnervingly reminded of Underworld here—especially when they had to kill ferals.

They kept walking for a long time, turning or switching routes seemingly at random. Charon took only a few breaks. He hogged irradiated water the same way she had seen smoothskins hoard clean water. 8:24 was the reading on the pip-boy before they huddled to camp in an old public bathroom for the night.

"We'll be out in the open by tomorrow," Charon said, "Maybe two days walk then if we can avoid getting killed on the way."

"I get the feeling you're good at avoiding getting killed."

He granted her only a small smile. Packaged food finished and tossed aside, he had already moved on to cleaning his gun.

"You got a plan, kid?"

"Sort of. I know that Eulogy Jones—the man in charge—can activate the collars from his house. Some kids were there when I was, trying to hack his computer. It will be ten times easier to just do it on his computer. I just don't know how to get in there and do it."

"Into Paradise Falls? I don't have the reputation. But… they might let us in for some of our new caps."

"Here's hoping. They're heavily armed, though. If anyone catches us…"

"Me. If anyone catches me. If you go in before your collar's deactivated, you might just be killed before the shooting even starts. Besides, you still don't aim right."

"You can't just go in there alone! That's a death warrant, too, there's like 20 mercenaries in there!"

"We'll figure it out. Go in, get the slaver's computer, get out alive. Simple enough."

"Dad taught me some about computers. I could probably hack it pretty easy—I just don't know how to get close to it."

"Leave that to me."

The two-day walk was as uneventful as it could have been in the Capital Wasteland. They got a little too close to a Deathclaw nest before Charon noticed it and they spent most of a tense hour sneaking past. Anna had no idea how he'd spotted it, but once the adrenaline wore off, he tersely explained to her the finer points of Deathclaw cries.

He also taught her to skin a molerat ("The pork and beans can't last forever") and they had a bit of shooting practice, usually very hands-on practice.

"We snuck around the Deathclaws, why can't we sneak around the Raiders?"

"You need practice. Especially before we get to Paradise Falls."

In this way he improved her shooting, both speed and accuracy, and taught her how to clean a gun. When Anna remarked on how quickly she was improving, Charon replied, "Survival does that to you."

He had not touched her, even in passing, since pulling the gun from her hands.

They were set to arrive in the morning. A short interlude with a merchant-turned-psychopath had delayed them. Charon didn't want to go in tired, and definitely not with Anna exhausted to the point of shaky.

He'd thought shaky might just be normal for her—after her past, it wouldn't be hard to imagine—but her hands didn't shake when she skinned a molerat or held a gun. She might not be able to sleep, but she was learning to shoot, and in Charon's book that combination was a recipe for survival.

The fact that she had_ chosen_ survival seemed to help, too. She wasn't exactly stable yet but they'd had no repeats of the first night. She'd found something untapped in herself to keep moving.

Long after dark fell, Anna was huddled up staring at the campfire. Charon eyed her surreptitiously, watching her face scrunch and relax as some kind of internal argument waged within her.

"I'm sorry if I get you killed," she finally said.

Charon looked at her long and hard, until she broke her gaze from the fire. "I'd be sorry to die."

"Then why? This is suicidal, what we're doing, and you've known me a few days. I don't get it."

She's learning, he thought, that's good.

"The world's not fair," he said out loud, "But it should be."

By his tone Anna knew the conversation was done; his cues were subtle but she was starting to pick them up. The dead plains and black wasteland sky filled her view as she turned from him, from the fire, and wondered who Charon really was. She wondered how they would survive tomorrow, and if they did, how to ever thank this crazy enigma who had saved her life?

"So you're sure that the computer is the only place to de-activate the collars?"

"Yes. And they could activate the self-destruct on any of the other slave collars in the meantime."

"Don't worry."

"You have a plan?"

"Yeah. You won't like it. Just go with it. I'll get you out."

She looked him up and down warily. They were too close to back out now. The city of slavers was already looming uncomfortably close.

"Give me the pistol," he said quietly. Now Anna looked at him as though he were asking her to jump to the moon. She'd gotten quite attached to Ahzrukhal's gun since about the first raider who'd tried to take her head off.

Brow raised, Charon held out a hand. Anna acquiesced.

They found the doorman in minutes.

"State your business or I shoot!"

Charon held his hands up, all weapons holstered. "I want to speak to Eulogy about my property," he said, stomach giving a twist that he ignored.

"What about her?"

"She's sub-par."

"Not my problem. We ain't seen you before, and we don't take responsibility for subcontractors."

"I just want to speak to him about arranging another business transaction."

"…Mr. Jones' time isn't cheap."

With a growl, Charon threw a bag. It clinked on the ground, and the slaver opened it to look inside.

"Come on in. Just don't touch anything, ghoul-man."

The pair entered, passing through a number of wicked-looking barricades and earning suspicious glances from more than one slaver.

Being inside again made Anna nervous. Fingers twitched for a gun, legs itched to start running. Ghostly horrors played across her memory—she knew what these people were capable of. Charon's stoic presence kept her from outright panic, but still her spine prickled and her breath shortened.

They were quickly led to the "pad." Inside, they went into a large room built for a hedonist, complete with silk bed, sex slaves, and enough liquor to kill a dozen men. Eulogy lounged between two mean-looking mercenaries with large guns.

"Hey, hey, I hear we have a problem, customer. What can I do for you?" Eulogy Jones asked.

"I acquired this slave from a ghoul named Ahzrukhal. She's not broken and her collar's discipline nodule isn't working."

"And what are you proposing I do about that?"

"I want a new collar. If that isn't possible, I want help breaking her in. The dirty work isn't for me."

Charon discussed this all quite casually. Anna's eyes darted more rapidly between the men. His eyes betrayed nothing—so who was he double-crossing, really? She had only known this man for a few days and placed all of her trust in him.

It really was a bad habit she'd gotten in to—but he held her remote, what else could she do?

"I can hook you right up with a new collar. We sometimes have problems with that model—it is pre-war, after all—for the bargain price of 800 caps, because I like you."

Charon's eyes narrowed. "You're robbing me."

"Sorry. It's 800 or nothing. Those collars are not easy to find."

Charon dug out bags of caps from several locations on his body, tossing them onto the bed between the concubines.

"Check them," Eulogy ordered. The slaves opened the bags, nodded. "All right," he continued, "If you'll just follow me to my computer terminal, we can deactivate that collar and get a new one on."

Eulogy typed in a few codes and asked for the remote. Charon handed it over and Eulogy flipped it open.

"I'm sure you remember Forty," Eulogy told her, "He's on duty outside the pad right now. So if you try to run…"

Anna managed to shake her head slowly. Her knees shook at the memory and remembered, phantom pain.

"Good girl," Eulogy said, pressing a button. Her collar clicked. "Clover? Get me a new one from the closet."

Charon barely moved. He didn't reach for the shotgun on his back, instead smoothly lifting the pistol from his hip. Without any preamble, Eulogy Jones sprawled dead on his floor, most of his head gone. Gunshots jolted through the old theatre, and in moments, everyone in the room was dead except for Anna and Charon.

Already filled with adrenaline, Anna took several minutes to register all this. "Were—were the slaves necessary?"

"Chick one went for a knife, two for a pipe. Yes."

With that, he reloaded and handed her pistol back. "Get ready," he growled, "And pick up a decent damn gun on the way."

Hell broke loose soon after. Slavers poured in after the shots. Charon and Anna had the advantage of surprise but little else. They lacked the sheer numbers and weapons of the slavers, but survived the first round.

Charon met her eyes and cocked his head to the stairs. She followed, and they slipped towards the balcony. Before anyone saw them up there, Charon had dropped two of them. Anna kept just inside the door, waiting for any stragglers to follow them.

Only one did, but he brought an assault rifle. Anna took it as the man gurgled on the floor and prayed it didn't operate too differently from her old BB gun.

When she emerged from the stairs, Charon was laughing and jeering at the slavers, reloading under cover. He poured a bottle of irradiated water over a graze-wound and returned to the fray. The heat and lust of battle written across his face were something to behold, especially from a man who betrayed so little emotion.

She managed to shoot. The first few bullets went far wide of their targets, but then she saw Forty taking aim with a heavy-duty minigun.

She emptied the clip into him and kept pulling the trigger before Charon casually mentioned, "Might want more bullets, kid."

Anna almost took a swing at him. Instead, she loaded the extra magazine—her only extra, taken from the slaver's pocket—and kept shooting.

At some point, bullets stopped flying back in return. Anna stared at the wall behind them, her back to the railing. Riddled with holes and blood, the theater stood testament to the gravity of the battle. She looked down at herself, her torn pre-war clothes, and the blood spreading over them.

"Nice choice on the assault rifle, smoothskin."

"…You okay, kid?"

"…Kid?"

"…Anna?"


End file.
